This Rut That I'm In
by feelsthemagic
Summary: AU after graveyard scene in Goblet of Fire. Something goes horribly, horribly wrong with Voldemort's resurrection. Now Tom Riddle must find a way to reconcile himself with his past.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

On that day:  
><em>"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son." A plop of something falling into a large cauldron.<em>

_"Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master." A knife, a scream, quiet sobbing._

_"And blood of an enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe." The same knife, a deep gash, the tricklings of several drops of blood falling._

_"The Dark Lord will rise again…"_

And then:  
>A sharp, searing surge of pain shoots through Severus Snape's left arm and he gasps aloud.<p>

The Triwizard Tournament has not yet ended, and he is lucky that no one is paying very much attention to him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Karkaroff looking panicked. Severus watches as he stands and mutters a few hasty words to Dumbledore on his left.

He locks eyes with Karkaroff as he turns, but it is only fleeting, as Karkaroff brushes past him, making his way into the woods, the opposite direction of the school.

Dumbledore turns to look in the direction Karkaroff left, a slight frown on his face. He sees Severus watching him and studies his face for a moment.

Severus stands as well and inclines his head at Dumbledore, silently asking for permission to leave.

Dumbledore's frown deepens, but he nods. Severus turns to go, feeling Dumbledore's eyes bore onto his back as he makes his way along the same route Karkaroff did just moments before.

Severus does not see Karkaroff as he steps into the forest and he doesn't expect to. As he loses sight of the Quidditch pitch, he hastens his footsteps until he reaches the edge of Hogwarts' borders.

He has known for a while now that the Dark Lord was returning, but this… he has prepared for this day for thirteen years, and yet, he isn't ready.

The Dark Lord has not yet summoned his followers, yet Snape can feel his renewed presence and knows that the others can, too.

He wonders fleetingly why the Death Eaters have not yet been summoned. Surely by now, the Dark Lord would have called them before him…

No matter. He must hasten to his side anyway. He must secure his place once more among Voldemort's ranks.

In the middle of the forest, once he is sure he has left the Hogwarts boundaries, he takes a deep breath, ignores the churning in his stomach, and Disapparates with a crack that seems to echo in the forest.

He reappears in a graveyard mere seconds later. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Part One**

The Dark Lord raises his hands to his face, testing his renewed strength. Yet something is not right… something feels wrong, somehow.

He cannot understand, he cannot remember what happened. He sees only vague memories of his life flash in front of his eyes.

He remembers the time of his… could it have been his death? But he's here now, alive. He is… 76 years old… but that can't be right, either.

He racks his brain, unconscious of the background noise of Potter gasping, one hand free of the restraints that bind him, clutching at his scar, and Pettigrew sniveling on the ground, cradling his stump of an arm.

He tries to remember as far back as he can. He remembers the orphanage, Mrs. Cole, and Hogwarts- at least, six years of it.

Try as he might, he cannot remember anything that happened after that, though he knows _s___omething__must have happened.

After all, he "died" when he was- what was it- 54. Thirteen years ago.

He is growing alarmed now. He is back from some sort of limbo, clearly. He should be 76, or at the very least, 54, as he was when he died.

Yet he feels spry, young, and whole. He cannot understand the blood pounding in his ears, the urge to laugh and cry all at once, the __power__coursing through his veins.

He lifts his arm to touch tentatively at his chest. He moves his hand up to his face. He feels sharp cheekbones, a firm jaw line, well-defined and prominent features.

He reaches even higher to the nape of his neck and feels softness. __Hair___,_ his brain supplies automatically. He grows incensed.

He is meant to be __powerful__, dammit. He should not feel the curiosity and wonder of a newborn babe at something as inconsequential as fucking hair.

But he can't __remember__. He tries to snatch even the barest glimpse of a memory from deep within the recesses of his mind, and he hates that he can't glean any information from it.

It is a weakness, this lack of knowing.

__Don't worry about that now__, he tells himself, controlling his temper. __Dwell on this later___._ It's been barely a minute or two since he was reborn, after all. He takes in his surroundings instead, knowing that this is the wisest course of action for him for now.

There's a man on the ground by his feet, subservient. He spares a small glance of disgust for him before turning to the boy.

There's something familiar about him, and he can't help feeling as though he's met him before.

He looks more closely at the boy. His eyes are screwed shut, in what he recognizes to be pain, and he is holding onto his forehead.

_It's a bit of an odd time for a headache_, he thinks, but disregards it coolly while mentally berating himself for not viewing the situation with proper seriousness.

He finds it interesting, upon staring at this boy, that he still has not named himself. He knows who he looks like- Tom Riddle- but he is unsure of who is truly within his body.

The boy's eyes open, and he is interested to note that they are bright green. They seem familiar, and he's sure there must be something of importance to it.

In that second when he looks at his eyes, a name makes its way to his brain.

_Harry Potter_. He cannot understand the prickling of urgency he feels when thinking this name.

He tucks it away as a mental note to himself, reminding himself to think of it later.

"Potter," he whispers, and spares a moment to wonder at the sound of his voice- it sounds strong, confident, young, nothing like what he would have thought.

In the back of his mind, he hears a high, cruel laugh, and recognizes it somehow as his own. Yet it is not his anymore.

In the meanwhile, Potter has let go of his forehead, and he sees a dark scar shaped like a lightning bolt upon it. Potter's head is high and his eyes hold a look of disgust.

"Riddle," he spits out. The Dark Lord considers this. He is, in fact, Tom Riddle, then. Not Voldemort. Not yet.

Tom Riddle steps closer to the boy, who is still being held against a gravestone. He bends to read it- Tom Riddle.

He feels shock, anger, fear, before realization. This is his father's grave. Tom feels a moment of vindictive pleasure. The bastard died, then.

He straightens and turns to face Potter, inclining his head. "Harry Potter. We meet at last." He's not sure why he said that, but he has a lingering feeling that the boy is important.

Potter's eyes are dark with loathing. "We've met before," he says, his voice full of hate. "You set your basilisk on me."

Tom can't remember anything of the sort, but of course he can't say so. "Ah, yes," he murmurs. "The basilisk. Charming."

Tom thinks that he should __do__something, but he doesn't quite know what. He cannot hold a conversation with Potter- he cannot reveal his ignorance to anyone.

Yet he cannot dispose of the boy- something in his mind is warning him not to. __Now is not the time__, he hears a high voice say.

Even so, he wouldn't know how to go about it. Knowing the Killing Curse and using it are, after all, two very different things, and he doesn't think he has ever killed anyone before.

He paces in front of Potter for a moment, ignoring him, as he contemplates his options before turning once more to face Potter, his jaw set, his mind made up.

"Yes, well, I'm very sorry to cut short our meeting, Potter," he says silkily. "But I think you will find you have places to be. __Obliviate__."

He doesn't realize until after he's said the spell that he doesn't know where his wand is.

Potter's eyes snap out of focus anyway and he peers dreamily up at Tom. "Hello," he says, sounding pleasantly disoriented. "What's your name?"

Tom grins, betraying disturbingly white teeth. He looks around- he doesn't have much time before Potter will jump back to awareness.

He sees a shiny object in the grass and feels a magic radiate from it that he can immediately place. It is a Portkey.

"_Accio_," he says, and it zooms towards him and drops at his feet. Being careful not to touch it, he looks back at Potter, who is smiling dazedly at him.

"Excellent," he says. "Pick that up." He points to the object, reading the words "Triwizard Cup," on it.

Potter frowns inquisitively at him and then at the cup. "Okay," he agrees, before reaching down. He disappears, along with the cup.

Tom breathes a sigh of relief before he remembers the sniveling man a few steps behind him.

He turns sharply, relishing in the billowing of his black robes. The man on the ground has a stump where his hand should be- a recent acquisition, Tom notes, as blood is still pouring from the open wound.

He feels his lip curl in disgust as he looks at the man- there is something base and animalistic about him that Tom cannot place. He looks almost… ratlike.

"Master," gasps the man, and at the sound of his voice, a name jumps into Tom's mind. __Peter Pettigrew__. Tom is rather glad for this cold voice providing answers for him, but he would rather they came all at once.

"Master, you are… you are alive!" breathes Peter Pettigrew, tears still flowing from his eyes. "Please… I- please, you promised…" he trails off.

Tom is fairly intelligent and fills in the gaps. Whatever ritual this was, this- rebirth, it has not gone according to plan. Pettigrew was clearly meant to be helping him, and he must have promised some recompense for his aid.

__Well__, Tom thinks, rage marring his handsome features for an instant, __it didn't work__. He is not who he is supposed to be- he's 16, for Merlin's sake!

"Peter," he says, and Peter hiccups. Tom closes his eyes in impatience before opening them again and speaking.

"Look at me."

Peter seems too terrified to do anything of the sort, but he reluctantly brings his eyes to meet Tom's. His eyes widen, whether in fear or surprise, Tom isn't sure.

Frustrated, Tom invades Peter's mind. His Legilimency isn't quite what he thinks it must have been, but he is only 16, after all.

__Why did he call me Peter?__Is the thought most prominent in Peter's mind. __He's never once called me that.__

Tom curses to himself. He must call him by his surname, then.

"What do you see, Pettigrew?" he asks, and then waits.

Pettigrew's thoughts are slow and muddled. __Now he's calling me Pettigrew. What's going on? And why does he look so young?__

He shakily speaks. "My Lord… I- I don't understand. You were supposed to be restored to your former glory… It was supposed to heal you, I can't-" he breaks off abruptly.

Tom is slowly starting to understand. This spell was supposed to heal him, and for whatever reason, it's brought his body and mind back to this age.

"You have failed me," he snaps. "Do you deny it?"

Pettigrew backs away from him, stuttering. "I- I didn't… I followed your instructions, My Lord, down to the last letter."

_Damn him_, thinks Tom irritably. Before he can speak, he feels a presence and stiffens. Someone is watching them.

He waits a few seconds and concentrates, his head tilted so that he can listen more closely. The presence is behind him, and fast approaching.

He turns and walks toward it, past his father's grave. In the middle of the graveyard, a mere few yards from where he stands, he hears a crack as a man Apparates there.

He sees a man in about his mid- 30s, dark shoulder-length hair, sallow expression, aquiline nose. He waits for the helpful voice to give him a name, but for some reason, it doesn't speak.

The man's eyes betray no emotion, and there is no fear in his gait as he approaches Tom. He kneels at his feet. "My Lord," he says, his voice deep and masculine. "You have returned."

Tom doesn't move, waiting for some sign of recognition to pass through him. When none comes, he sighs. "Get up," he snaps irritably. "There's no need to grovel."

The man straightens, looking surprised. "Interesting," he says softly, but Tom hears him anyway.

He feels uncomfortable in the extreme- he can't place this man, he doesn't know how to act around him, and he doesn't quite know what to say.

The decision is taken out of his hands the next minute, when the man cautiously raises his head to speak. "My Lord, are you well? I sense that all is not right."

Tom turns his back on him, not wanting to betray the confusion he feels. The man doesn't press, merely waits patiently as Tom collects his thoughts.

__I must tell someone___, _Tom thinks. __I am alone, without a memory of what has happened, in a time well after my own. I don't even have my wand.__

But at the same time, he cannot trust anyone. He sure as hell does not wish to confide in Pettigrew, still sprawled on the floor, clutching at his arm some distance away.

_I need someone- a follower, anyone, to lean on if I am to survive in this world, _he admits bitterly, hating the knowledge that he is, for once, at a loss.

__But how can I know whom to confide in? This man has appeared from nowhere, unbidden. He calls me 'My Lord,' yet can I trust him?__

Tom figured out, years ago, not to trust anyone. Yet he feels a strange pull towards this man. Something instinctual is telling him to trust him.

__I'll have to use Legilimency on him before I decide___, _Tom thinks. He turns back to the man.

"How did you know where to Apparate to?" he asks, while boring a hole through the other man's eyes.

The other looks back easily enough. "All of us felt it when you returned. I assumed you would require assistance, though you hadn't yet called for us. I simply thought of you when Apparating; this is where it brought me."

Tom is listening with one ear, but he is more intent on looking into the man's mind. What he sees satisfies him, for he nods approvingly.

"You have done well," he says. "For this service you have rendered me, you shall be my confidante."

He smirks to himself, for it is absurd that Lord Voldemort (Tom Riddle, he corrects himself with a grimace) should have a confidante. Yet, it will do well for this man to think himself onto a pedestal.

"Now," he says, placing a hand on the other's shoulder. "What's your name?"

The man raises an eyebrow, but merely replies, "Severus Snape." Tom nods. Good, strong name, Severus.

"Now, Severus," he says, testing the name on his tongue, "You're going to find out just __exactly__what went wrong with this little spell our friend Peter cast…"

Severus Snape looks singularly unimpressed. "Any number of things would have gone wrong with that," he says coolly. "Pettigrew is not exactly known for his brains."

"A fact I am soon coming to realize," mutters Tom under his breath. He steers Severus towards his father's grave once more. Peter, in the meantime, has finally decided to use his wand to stop the blood flow from his arm.

"Now," says Tom. "Here's how it all began…"

He tells Severus everything he can remember, which isn't very much. Apart from Severus's eyes widening, he remains impassive throughout Tom's narration.

Tom tells him of his awakening, his interaction with Potter, and the voice in his head providing certain memories for him.

He is extremely hesitant in baring his secrets to another person, but he has used Legilimency and can see the loyalty Severus holds for him. If there's one thing he's sure of, it is that Severus will not betray him.

Severus nods as Tom finishes his tale before turning to Peter. "Wormtail," he says, disgust marring his every feature.

Tom looks from Snape to Peter, grinning wildly. __Wormtail__. Another piece of the puzzle is filled in.

"Wormtail," repeats Snape, softly, dangerously. "First, the Dark Lord's wand, if you will."

Peter fishes inside his robes, not looking at Severus at all. He pulls out a long, thin wand and hands it to Tom, who feels a jolt of energy course through his body as he touches it.

"Now," says Severus, in the same soft voice that he used so often on his pupils. "Tell me everything you know of the incantation to bring the Dark Lord back to power."

Wormtail looks up at him from where he is sitting on the ground, not getting up. A look of scorn crosses over his features. "As if I'd tell __you__," he says dismissively.

Snape maintains his air of politeness and patience, forged though it clearly is. "Wormtail," he says again, sounding for all the world as though he is discussing the weather. "I advise you tell me posthaste, as you would most probably not enjoy the repercussions of silence."

"Big words coming from you, Snivellus," sneers Wormtail. "The Dark Lord entrusted me with taking care of him as he recovered. If he should have anyone's loyalty- it shall be mine, not yours."

Tom is somehow irritated by the man's words. "Just tell us what you know," he snaps.

Peter shoots a scared look at him before nodding and speaking.

"Harry- I mean, Potter- greatly weakened the Dark Lord when he killed Quirrell. An act which you-" he shoots a dark look at Severus. "-had much to do with."

Snape ignores this and prods for him to continue.

"During the First Wizarding War, the Dark Lord developed a powerful ritual to bring his body back. It was meant to use the bone of his father, flesh of his servant, and blood of his enemy," Peter continues.

Severus frowns, listening hard. "What was the purpose of this ritual?"

"It was meant to bring him back from- well, not the dead, but, er, I don't really understand it-"

"Never mind, then," cuts in Severus, foreseeing a rant. "Continue."

"Er, yes, well, it was meant to bring him back. He said- he said something about it healing his soul- that it would bring him back to what he was when he was still healthy."

Severus furrows his brow. He doesn't understand how this has made him revert to Tom Riddle- a 16-year-old version, at that.

He does think, however- and he is very careful to keep his mind's shields up as he thinks this- that now is the Order's chance to permanently end the Death Eaters.

The Order is at a distinct advantage- Tom Riddle's powers are not yet as developed and advanced, and his lack of memory will provide a buffer zone for the Order to begin to prepare a strategy.

Seeing as Peter seems finished talking, he turns back to Tom.

"I will do my best to research this turn of events, My Lord," he says, inclining his head. "In the meantime, what would you have me do?"

Tom's eyes glint. He has gone for too long, blind. He must know of his fate. "Tell me, Severus," he begins slowly, drawling the words out. "Tell me of my past."

Severus, noticing an opportunity to gain favor with the Dark Lord, smirks and obliges.

Later  
>Snape walks up the marble staircase guarded by the gargoyle to Dumbledore's office with more weariness in his step than he would care to admit.<p>

It's a dangerous business, deceit, and one wrong move can have him killed. The knowledge that this Tom Riddle has never killed before puts his mind only slightly at ease.

Dangerous as it is, it is necessarily exhausting. Still, before he knocks, he takes a moment to adjust the collar of his robes and straighten his back.

He hates to show weakness to anybody, especially Dumbledore.

He reaches for the brass knocker, but before he can pull it, he hears Dumbledore's voice. "You may enter."

Snape scowls, but pulls the door open and enters.

Dumbledore is sitting behind his desk, and he looks more than a little relieved to see him.

"Ah, Severus," he says. "It's been an interesting day, to say the least."

Severus doesn't crack a smile. "Professor," he says instead. "The Dark Lord has returned."

Dumbledore merely nods in a weary manner. "I was afraid of that."

Severus spends the next half hour or so repeating everything he has heard in the graveyard that day. Dumbledore nods.

"I thought something suspicious was going on when Harry appeared outside of the maze, completely dazed."

"I take it Potter was safe?" Severus asks.

"Alas, he was dragged off by Crouch too soon for me to tell."

Severus jerks his head up sharply. "Crouch?" he demands. "But he had disappeared."

"Barty Crouch, Jr.," explains Dumbledore. "His father smuggled him out of Azkaban."

"Then… he was the spy?" asks Severus, confused.

"Indeed. He has been using Polyjuice Potion to impersonate Mad-Eye."

A lot of things suddenly click in place for Severus. He brushes this aside, however. There are more important things at hand.

"What are we to do now?" he asks. "Surely we cannot allow the Dark Lord to roam free in this state- as his memories return, he will grow more dangerous."

"We will need to consult with the Order before we make any decision," says Dumbledore, making a small note on a piece of parchment he has in front of him.

Snape watches him impassively for a moment before his curiosity gets the better of him. "Do you know why the Dark Lord has returned in this way? Why has the ritual malfunctioned?"

Dumbledore sighs. "Severus, this is not a story I would prefer to share with you."

"And why not? Have I not done your bidding these past thirteen years? Yet you keep me in the dark perpetually!"

"I do not wish to tell you what we know in the off-chance that Voldemort will one day penetrate your mind."

"He will not do so," says Severus dismissively. "The Dark Lord is greatly weakened."

Dumbledore considers this. "I suppose you are right," he sighs. "I have concealed much from you, and for that, I am sorry."

He looks down at the table, not meeting Severus's eyes. "What do you know about Horcruxes?"

Severus gasps. "The Dark Lord has a Horcrux?" Having dabbled in the Dark Arts, he knows quite a bit about Horcruxes. There was a time when the thought was intriguing. Now… it is revolting to imagine.

"More than one, I'd wager. You remember his obsession with immortality?"

Severus looks away, sickened. "Then how are we to kill him?"

"Ah, Severus, I think there's a way around that," says Dumbledore, looking triumphant. "The ritual- you say that Voldemort meant for it to heal him?"

Severus nods hesitantly. "But what-"

Dumbledore leans forward in his chair. "Tom Riddle committed his first murder at the age of 16- his father, if you remember."

Severus frowns. "Then his soul was first split at the age of 16?"

"Exactly."

"But- he couldn't have made a Horcrux at that age, could he?"

"In all likelihood, he did not. But it doesn't matter when the other portion of one's soul is removed- only when the soul is split."

"How could the Dark Lord not have known that this would happen?"

"He has always placed too much importance in his Horcruxes. He fails to consider the soul as important as it is.

"I'm sure it never occurred to him that the real damage to his soul was in splitting it. Voldemort would have assumed that the rebounding of the Killing Curse was the moment in which his soul was damaged."

Severus nods, absorbing this.

"You have done an excellent job tonight," says Dumbledore kindly. "Hopefully this will lead to the destruction of Tom Riddle."

Severus, taking the hint, moves to get up from his chair. A thought suddenly strikes him and he sits back down.

"What does this mean for the prophecy?"

Dumbledore tilts his head to the side thoughtfully. "We cannot know for sure," he says finally. "I would assume, as Harry's blood was partially the cause of his downfall, that the prophecy is now moot."

Severus nods and stands. "Goodnight, Professor."

"Goodnight- oh, and Severus?" Snape turns to look back at him. "Please be careful. Do not allow your guard to slip, even for a moment. Even at 16, Tom Riddle is dangerous."

Severus nods once more and exits the room. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Part Two**

Dumbledore calls an emergency meeting for the Order of the Phoenix- the first meeting, in fact, since Voldemort's defeat thirteen years before.

Luckily, Voldemort has no reason to suspect anyone knows he is back, so they can meet without the need for Unplottable meeting places, Secret Keepers, etc. that they used last time.

They are using Snape's home at Spinner's End- it's not ideal and it's rather cramped, but it will do.

Dumbledore stands and calls the meeting to order. He explains briefly what is happening. As he talks, Snape zones out and looks around the room.

These faces are not new, far from it in fact. Snape recognizes most of the members from the old Order, though some, such as Nymphadora Tonks and Bill Weasley, are new.

He sees Sirius Black and Remus Lupin standing next to each other. Black is glaring directly at him, clearly not wanting to be in Snape's house.

Severus merely shoots him a nasty look and turns away.

Dumbledore wraps up his debriefing monologue and turns the discussion over to the members. There are varying opinions on what to do with Tom.

"Kill him," grunts Moody. "Don't want him lying in wait to get his memories back and have him try to take over the Wizarding world again."

"No," disagrees Dedalus Diggle. "We must rehabilitate him. Make him a useful member of society."

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named proved himself to be capable of murder at 16," says Minerva. Severus shoots a significant look at Black, who glares back at him.

Minerva continues. "He must be contained. I don't think killing him is an option- no one should have power over another's life- but he is not safe to be allowed to roam free."

"How would you suggest we rehabilitate him, Dedalus?" Hestia Jones asks.

Dedalus beams back at her. "I suggest we find some member of the Order to take him under their wing and help him become a good person," he says.

Conversation continues like this, with no option seeming better than another.

Snape snorts under his breath in frustration. The people next to him fall silent and stare at him. "Did you have an opinion that you'd like to share, Snape?" asks Black nastily.

Snape rolls his eyes. "The Dark Lord," he begins, "is not an ordinary 16 year old. He possesses more power, perhaps, than anyone in this room, with the obvious exception of Professor Dumbledore.

"He is a master of deceit. If you attempt to 'reform' him, he will play along until he finds an opportunity to lash out against you. He is merciless in his revenge.

"As time goes on, I have no doubt that he will regain his memories. Any action we are to make must be made now, before he remembers his past.

"I am not responsible for making the decision. That responsibility, I believe, lies with the Headmaster," he says, inclining his head in Dumbledore's direction.

There is a small silence as Severus finishes his speech. Minerva turns to Dumbledore. "What do you suggest we do?"

Dumbledore looks at her evenly. "I suggest a compromise," he says, his voice ringing out through the room.

"We must contain Riddle- he is far too dangerous to be allowed to roam free, as Minerva says. But I do think there is hope for him yet. He simply must have someone to watch over him- to teach him."

Snape looks away, dreading the next few words.

"We will need trickery to get to him, however. Severus- this will be your responsibility."

_Damn him_. Snape gives a minute nod, not betraying any emotion. Still, he always gets the toughest cases, he thinks with perhaps a hint of petulance.

"Severus- you know him best thus far. I suggest you watch over him. We can contain him here- Hogwarts' term will be over in two weeks' time, you can watch over him during the summer."

"What help will one summer be?" Snape asks. "The Dark Lord will not become a white hat so quickly."

"When the time comes, we will decide what to do." The rest of the Order is nodding, as if it were their idea in the first place.

Severus recognizes defeat and accepts it, albeit with bad grace.

Later  
>In two weeks, the necessary preparations have been made. Spinner's End has been fortified with spells and enchantments by Dumbledore himself; it closely resembles the prison that Dumbledore entrapped Grindelwald in.<p>

Severus does not complain, for his wish to see Voldemort's rein collapse outweighs any ties he may have to his house.

He watches from outside as Dumbledore prepares a few last minute defenses over the house.

He cannot help but feel that he is betraying Tom. He knows that Tom is Voldemort- but somehow, he keeps separating the two in his head.

He knows what he said during the Order meeting about Tom being dangerous. But when all is said and done, Tom is merely a boy.

Can he really grudge him his interest in the Dark Arts, his fear of death, which ultimately is what this boils down to?

He hates his own father with a deep passion for the childhood he was forced to bear. Tobias Snape was never known for his kindness, nor his patience.

And, wrong though it may be, he understands why Tom had become who he did. After all, born of a loveless union and having never been shown any kindness, how could he understand love?

Dumbledore wasn't just waxing poetic when he spoke of the power of love- it is indeed a powerful magic force. It is what purifies the soul. And Tom had never had any.

Is Tom to blame, or merely his environment?

Severus shakes his head. Such thinking is what will affect his mission, and if he is to succeed, he will need to keep a cool head.

He pities Tom- yes, he does- but he hates him still. Tom represents everything that went wrong with his life- losing himself to the Dark Arts and losing Lily.

Lily. Severus thinks of her as often as he breathes. She's a constant ache in his side, entering unbidden into his thoughts and dreams.

Yes, Snape decides. He __does__differentiate between Tom and Voldemort. It was Voldemort who was the cause of Lily's death.

This Tom- this sixteen-year-old figure- has never committed murder. His soul, while perhaps not pure, is at least whole.

He's shaken from his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder; he turns to see Dumbledore standing beside him.

"It's time," he says simply.

Severus has heard this sentence often enough in his life to not be particularly impressed by its meaning.

He simply meets Dumbledore's eye briefly before turning his back on him and walking away from his house. The spells have been designed such that he can only Apparate when he is a fair distance from his house.

These new protection spells will inconvenience him, but he has the fleeting thought that Tom Riddle, living in his _house_, will inconvenience him more.

Tom is laying low in Godric's Hallow; for some reason, he feels a pull to the place. The irony is not lost on Severus.

He Apparates there when he has left the security of the enchantments over his house and its perimeter and makes his way towards the old Potter house.

The house is mostly in shambles, but, being Unplottable, it is nearly impossible to see, unless one knows where it is.

He feels a moment's pity for Tom- the house is exposed completely to the elements and it rained the previous night- before remembering that Tom was probably used to less than stellar conditions at the orphanage.

Snape sees Tom, huddled in a corner. Tom looks up, and Severus feels a quick wave of hostile magic sent in his direction before it is retracted as Tom recognizes him.

Tom nods in greeting and Snape grimaces in revulsion at the betrayal he is about to commit. He can't help it; Tom is just a boy after all.

"I didn't call for you," says Tom dully. Two weeks in a damaged house tends to sap the enjoyment out of life.

"I wanted to see that you were well after the rain last night," lies Severus.

Tom sends a lazy smile up at him. "Just fine, thanks," he says, with a hint of sarcasm. "I've had worse accommodations, to be sure."

"Tom," says Snape. "Would you like to live in my home for some time? I assure you, it is far more comfortable than this."

Tom shakes his head. "I can't help feeling something about this place call to me," he says, curiosity in his expression as he trails his eyes over the walls.

"I can't leave unless I find out what it is."

Severus nods slowly. He had expected this. "I am sorry," he says softly.

Tom glances over at him. "What for? My conditions are not your fault."

"No," says Snape. "For this." Even as he speaks, he is nonverbally casting a Stunner at Tom.

Tom manages a shield at the last second and is instantly on his feet, a sneer replacing the previous boredom etched on his face.

"I knew I shouldn't have trusted you," he says in a low, furious voice. "You thought you could outwit me? I am Lord Voldemort, you fool." He begins sending curses at Snape, each darker than the next.

Snape spares the smallest of moments to appreciate Tom's dueling skills, as well as his vast knowledge of the Dark Arts, before beginning to duel in earnest.

Tom is an expert dueler and can probably defeat most witches and wizards, despite his youth and current state of weakened magic. Snape, however, is also an expert, and has had several years more experience with the Dark Arts than Tom.

For now, the two are evenly matched.

Snape knows he can win the duel easily by using _Sectumsempra_, but he is loath to cause Tom a serious injury. The agreement was to capture, not kill.

A few seconds later, however, when he dodges the Killing Curse, he grows angry. He sends a simple Stunner at Tom, while following it up with a nonverbal _Sectumsempra_.

Tom easily blocks the Stunner, but does not expect the curse following it, and Snape watches in slow motion as gashes appear over Tom's skin and he sinks down onto the ground.

_Fuck_. He rushes to where Tom lies and grabs Tom's wand, storing it in the pocket of his robes.

Amazingly, Tom is still conscious, but barely. "What spell... was that?" he chokes, even while Snape runs his wand over the gash lines, muttering words so fast they sound like a chant.

"You betrayed me," whispers Tom, before his eyes close and he falls unconscious.

Later  
>Tom slowly moves into consciousness as he hears low voices around him. He takes a moment to gather his bearings, keeping his eyes closed.<p>

He places Snape's voice, and he's sure he's heard the other, though he can't quite tell who it is. He can't quite hear their conversation either.

He opens his eyes to find himself on a rather grubby bed in a room that looks scarcely any larger than a kitchen cabinet.

As he sits up, Snape and his companion stop talking ant turn to look at him. Tom decides to spare a hateful glance for them and stops short at the sight.

_Dumbledore_. "You," says Tom through clenched teeth. "I suppose this is your doing?"

Dumbledore, damn him, looks cheerful. "Indeed," he says, smiling at Tom as though he were an old friend. "How are you feeling?"

Tom glares at him. "How do you think?" he snaps. He looks pointedly in Snape's direction.

Snape is steadfastly looking away from both Tom and Dumbledore. He looks over quickly to catch Tom's glare and looks away again hurriedly, looking extremely discomfited.

"Now, Tom," says Dumbledore. "Let's have a little talk, shall we?"

Tom sneers in his direction. "If you're expecting me to beg for forgiveness and fall at your feet-"

"I expect no such thing," says Dumbledore swiftly. "I do, however, expect you to be angry, furious even. I don't expect you'll understand."

"Understand what?" says Tom, his voice low. "You've essentially kidnapped me, haven't you? Do you even know who I am?"

"Unfortunately, yes, or this would not be necessary," says Dumbledore wearily.

"I don't even know where I am!"

"You're in my home," says Snape, speaking for the first time since Tom woke up. "You'll be staying under my watch."

"What is this supposed to achieve? I'm sixteen years old, for Merlin's sake!"

"Now, Tom," says Dumbledore, and Tom hates him for making him feel like a petulant child. "You will not always be sixteen. And we want to head off any, ah, problems that may develop with you back."

"Albus," says Tom, his voice changing pitch, becoming smooth and silky. "You know my goal. Yours is- was- the same. You know we seek only mastery over magic, immortality. Isn't this man's last and greatest obstacle?"

Dumbledore frowns and shakes his head, but Tom presses on."Think," he urges. "I'm back for a reason- you know this as well as I. Perhaps it is to have a second chance at life- at power, immortality at its best. Why not join me and reap the rewards?"

"No, Tom," says Dumbledore, though his eyes are far away. "You cannot tempt me into darkness."

"It's not darkness that I speak of, Albus. You have made this mistake so many times! There is no good and evil- there is only power. You and I are both strong enough to wield it, to harness it- to use to accomplish something!"

"You seek only escape from death," says Dumbledore, standing up. "Whereas I look it in the eye and welcome it."

Tom sees a lost cause. "Then you are a fool," he sneers.

"Then so be it." So saying, Dumbledore exchanges a significant look with Severus before sweeping out of the room.

Tom looks over at Snape, but before he can begin to formulate words, Snape opens his mouth. "Don't even attempt to hoodwink me and bring me to your side once more," he says. "Wasn't it you who always said that a friend turned foe could never be trusted again?"

So he had. "You are no friend of mine," spits Tom.

"A pity," intones Severus dryly. "I don't know how I will go on."

"How long am I to stay here?"

"As long as it takes," says Snape listlessly. Tom imagines wringing his neck.

"For what?"

Snape just shrugs, and the urge to throttle him grows stronger.

Later  
>Snape is checking over Tom's room one last time, looking for cracks in the magical protection holding Tom.<p>

Tom looks at Severus from hooded eyes. "If I ever get out of here," he says through gritted teeth, not for the first time. "I will kill you."

Severus doesn't look at him, but continues to pace the bedroom, looking for any weakness in the magical shields surrounding it.

"You betrayed me." Tom's voice is accusatory.

Snape continues to ignore him. The words ring a little too close to truth for his liking.

"I haven't done anything," says Tom, his voice smooth and persuasive. "Will you punish an innocent boy for a crime that has not been committed yet?"

"This is not a punishment, Tom," says Severus tersely. He bends down to inspect the floorboards.

Tom switches tracks. "So how long have you been working against me?" he asks conversationally.

Snape straightens up and looks round at Tom. "Since Voldemort killed Lily Evans."

"Potter's mother?" asks Tom, remembering this bit of information from what Severus told him before.

Severus just nods.

"And what was she to you?" Tom asks, his eyes calculating. He has been stuck in this house for merely a few hours, but he is determined to make Snape's life hell for it.

Severus doesn't reply.

"Ah," says Tom mockingly. "Was it love?"

"Shut up," says Snape quietly, his mouth drawn in a tight line.

Tom pays no heed to him. His eyes dance with bitter amusement. "Did you love her, Severus? That must rankle- looking into Potter's eyes and seeing her there."

Severus's grip on his wand tightens.

"You think I killed her?" Tom says, his voice rising. "It was I who caused her death? But, Severus," he says, mock surprised. "You should know, Voldemort and I are separate entities."

Snape is failing badly at looking impassive- it is clear that this last comment has hit close to home.

"I bet you picture her at night, don't you?" Tom continues, his voice filled with derision. "I bet you stare up at your ceiling and touch yourself as you think of her eyes, looking up at you as she-"

A vase across the room explodes.

"Ah, ah," Tom chides. "Control over one's emotions, remember. That's how you managed to trick me so beautifully in the first place, isn't it, Severus?" There's a hint of bitterness in his voice now.

He continues speaking, watching Snape's reaction closely. "You know, technically it's your fault she's dead," he says. "You were the one who betrayed the contents of the prophecy to me, after all."

Severus crosses the room and points his wand at Tom. "Shut up," he says again, not trusting his voice to say anymore.

"Or what?" Tom asks, an undercurrent of anger in his tone. "You'll kill me? The way you killed your precious Lily?"

Snape grabs Tom by the fist of his robes and pushes him roughly against the wall.

"Don't you __dare___,_" he growls, his voice cracking. "Don't you dare even speak her name." He's barely aware of how close he is to Tom, pressed up against the wall.

"It wasn't I who killed Lily Evans," he snarls.

"And neither was it me, yet I am the one blamed," snarls Tom back, losing all trace of amusement.

"Why would you care?" Snape shoots back. "Aren't you supposed to be evil?"

"A fact you would do well to remember, Severus," says Tom darkly, "I proved myself capable of murder at the age of sixteen, don't forget."

Tom pushes Snape off him and sneers at him in disgust. "Just like Black."

Snape stares at him. "You know about that?"

Tom taps his head with a finger. "I find things out," he says.

The added distance between them now allows Snape to aim a calculating look at Tom.

Tom looks back, his face expressionless. "Just like I found out about Lily," he says, teasingly.

"I told you to shut up about Lily," says Snape furiously.

"I thought about it," says Tom, mock thoughtfully. "But I decided against it."

Snape grabs Tom's robes once more. "You are under my direction," he growls. "Which means you will obey me."

"My, my, Severus," teases Tom, tilting his head to the side, exposing his neck. "Aren't we awfully touchy? Did I hit a nerve?"

Snape doesn't move from his threatening stance. Tom sees Snape's lack of concentration and uses it to break into his mind.

_He dares… that vile boy, I'll show him_, Snape is thinking murderously, even his thoughts disjointed in anger. _He brings punishment upon himself._

"Just shut up," growls Severus, before bending his head and kissing him furiously.

He forces Tom's mouth open and shoves his tongue inside, stepping ever closer to him and reveling in the firm pressure he receives for his suddenly aching cock.

Tom freezes in shock- for all his taunts and jibes, he never expected Severus to lose control like this. And he sure as __hell__doesn't know what brought this on.

"Wait," he gasps, tearing his mouth from Severus's. "What the fuck?" He wishes he could have injected more venom into the expletive.

Severus pulls away from him briefly and pushes Tom's robe off his shoulders violently. "Tell me to stop," he growls, before pulling Tom back to him for a filthy open-mouthed kiss.

Tom can't help but moan under his ministrations, all the while hating himself for reacting, willing his own budding erection to go away. He backs up, but Snape follows him, until he bumps into the wall.

Snape bites sharply at Tom's lower lip, and Tom tastes a spot of blood. With great effort, he pushes Snape and turns his face to the side.

"Stop," he says weakly, his mind numb. __Is this what kissing was like___?_

Snape hooks his thumbs into the belt of Tom's pants and pulls him closer once more. "Liar," he breathes, before placing one hand under Tom's chin and shoving his head back to face him.

"What the hell are you doing?" whispers Tom. Unwillingly, he lifts a hand to hook around Snape's neck.

Severus pulls Tom's hips close to his and groans as their erections rub together.

Tom's mind is racing; nothing in his experience could have prepared him for something like this. He __doesn't __want this, yet he can't stop responding to Snape's touch.

Severus, meanwhile, places bites and licks down Tom's neck, and Tom shudders, one hand fisted in Severus's hair.

"Oh Merlin," he says shakily, letting his head fall back against the wall once more. "Please, stop."

He __hates __this feeling; he never wants it to go away. Just because it feels good, doesn't mean he wants it.

Severus reaches for the buttons of Tom's shirt and impatiently tugs them open, pushing his shirt off him. He falls to his knees and nips at Tom's stomach, all the while, his fingers working nimbly to open the zipper of Tom's pants.

He himself is fully dressed, and Tom hates him a little for making him feel so vulnerable.

Both his hands are cradling Snape's head, threading through his hair, his eyes are closed, he's moaning, every moan interlaced with the word, "Stop."

Snape pulls down Tom's pants, and reaches for his own zipper, pulling out his cock. Tom can't help looking, having never seen one other than his own.

Snape is bigger than he is, though not by much, and as he straightens up, Tom feels a prickle of fear for one of the first times of his life.

Snape turns Tom around by the shoulder and reaches around for his cock.

Tom gasps as Severus touches him, and for the first time in his life, he understands why people have sex.

Severus puts his other hand on the wall by Tom's head for support and strokes him off a few times, wiping off the bead of precum.

He moves his hand up to Tom's face. "Lick it," he orders.

Tom takes the finger into his mouth and swirls it with his tongue, all the while feeling hopelessly demeaned.

"Make it good," moans Severus, his voice raspy. "It's all the preparation you're getting."

Tom doesn't understand what he means, but he focuses hard on wetting the finger and the other that is pushed into his mouth a few seconds later.

He finds out in about a minute, when Severus removes his fingers and snakes one down the small of Tom's back to his arse.

He fingers Tom's hole, eliciting a drawn out moan, and abruptly pushes his finger in. Tom tenses up in pain.

"Relax, boy," says Severus, and Tom tries, concentrates on this new feeling inside him. Snape slowly fucks him with one finger and Tom feels a bit dizzy.

He winces as Snape pushes another finger in, slower this time, scissoring them. Slowly he starts to adjust to the feel. Snape hooks his finger, and stars explode in front of his eyes.

"Holy f_uck_," he groans, and Severus smirks a bit. "That's the idea," he says.

Tom is starting to think this sex thing might not be so bad, not with that spot inside him. He still wishes Snape would stop though- if he could picture losing his virginity, it would not be to Snape.

Especially when Snape pulls his fingers out and places the blunt head of his cock by Tom's entrance.

He pushes in slowly, gasping, even while Tom tries to blink back tears that are forming in his eyes.

Once Snape is fully sheathed, he pauses, and the pain slowly starts to ebb away as well. "Okay?" asks Severus, his voice surprisingly calm.

Tom shakes his head, but Severus pulls almost all the way out before pushing back in slowly. Tom holds onto the wall to remain standing upright as Snape fucks him.

His cock is achingly hard, and he reaches down to touch himself, only to have his hands slapped away by Severus.

"Don't," he says, and Tom groans in frustration. "I __said__," says Snape, enunciating the word with a sharp thrust, "that you were under my order."

Tom __hates__this, he hates that Snape has snatched his power. He's never been a follower; it's simply not in his nature. _But he can't bring himself to stop Snape_.

"I follow… no one," he gasps out, trying not to concentrate on the feel of Snape's cock sliding in and out of him.

It's too good, though, and he doesn't think he will last long. After all, he is a teenage boy, and a virgin one at that.

Snape doesn't respond to Tom, whether because he can't bring himself to care, or because he wants to let Tom have his pride, Tom's not sure.

Tom's close now, he's __so___ close_, and as he feels Snape thrust faster, deeper, he thinks maybe Snape is close too.

Snape comes with a groan, slumping his weight against Tom's body, being held up by the wall alone.

Tom is teetering on the edge, but as Snape slows to a stop, he comes down from his high. "Please," he whispers, turning to look at him, hating himself for it. "Let me… finish."

But Severus can't meet Tom's eyes as he hastily zips his pants. Tom is left, completely naked, clutching to a wall, watching as Severus practically runs from the room.

He sinks to the floor, not needing to be strong anymore, now that there's no one to watch. He's left, achingly hard, abandoned once more by the traitor he had allowed himself to trust.

He allows himself a minute of weakness, closing his eyes and resting his head on his knees, before he straightens up and hardens his expression.

He's still hard, but he refuses to touch himself- he won't let himself think, even for a moment, that Severus Snape had an effect on his life.

He closes his eyes once more and tells himself firmly that he does __not__still feel Severus's touch on every inch of his body.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part Three**

Tom dreams of high, cold laughter and green light. He sees a young man, scarcely older than himself, with dark unruly hair, falling to the ground.

He hears the cries of a woman with vibrant red hair, clutching a baby in her arms. She falls as well, after several long moments.

He sees Severus, on his knees at his feet, speaking so quickly that the words were tripping over each other to get out.

"Please, My Lord, she is my- my childhood friend. Spare her life, I beg you," over and over again, the same words: __Spare her life, I beg you___._

"You care for this woman?" the high cold voice never fails to send shivers down his spine. Snape merely looks up at him, his eyes wide.

He sighs. "Very well, but only for you would I make such an exception, Severus."

Snape looks beyond grateful, beyond relieved. "My Lord… thank you…"

The scene blurs and fades into another, similar to its predecessor.

"I am sorry," says the voice that Tom has come to recognize as his own. "I had no other choice, you see."

Snape's eyes are far away. "Yes, of course," he murmurs.

"There are other women," Lord Voldemort says, and his tone is… almost gentle, though Snape knows it can't possibly be so.

"Oh, yes," he agrees, not quite knowing what he's agreeing to.

Voldemort's eyes are approving. "Those of purer blood, worthier of a man like you…"

Tom wakes up, drenched in sweat.

It's been a week since that day with Snape, and Tom hasn't had a single night of restful sleep since.

His nightmares are growing steadily worse; he's seeing every bit of his past in his dreams and reliving every moment of it in his thoughts.

It's getting harder and harder for him to remember who he is- Tom Marvolo Riddle, last remaining descendent of Salazar Slytherin, future Lord Voldemort.

His soul is about as far from pure as it could get, and for this reason alone, he fears death like no other. What horrors will death visit upon him? What havoc will it wreak upon his very being?

Better, he thinks sometimes, never to die at all, than to be subjected to punishment for something that he could never help.

No person on Earth has ever loved him before- and he is slowly being forced to understand the power that love contains.

These memories- they haunt him, and it's growing unbearable. His healed soul can now feel a depth to emotion that was previously lost to him.

He feels something akin to regret before he grows immeasurably angry.

He shouldn't feel this way. Remorse does not become him. He's destined to become the greatest wizard in the world- he's meant to become immortal.

It's this __body__. It's affecting his mind, making him think thoughts that he shouldn't think.

He's never felt so conflicted, not even as a child.

Life had always been clear-cut to him, and he used to pride himself on his ability to focus his mind on a goal.

He had decided to cheat death, and he had- this was the greatest feat anyone could ever hope to accomplish.

These dreams were clearly the cause. They were doing something to his subconscious, making him see his past from another's viewpoint.

It wasn't__right__, it wasn't __fair__.

He needs to leave this place. He's vaguely aware of Snape, on the opposite side of the house. He could so easily sneak over to his room and push a pillow over his face…

He's been dormant for too long, living under this arrest for t_oo long_.

He's not quite aware that he's stepping from the bed and walking towards the door until he feels the sharp tug of magic at his navel.

He can't leave his room at night, he remembers, and his eyes flash red, unbeknownst to him.

He sits back down on his bed, feeling like a caged animal.

He needs to escape, or he's worried that he'll go mad. He was meant for greater things than this, sitting under house arrest in the home of a man who couldn't look him in the face.

Also, these nightmares are growing intolerable. He shouldn't feel guilt for crimes, no, simple actions, that he couldn't even remember ever committing!

He glances at his reflection in the mirror opposite his bed. He has never paid much attention to his face- he knows others think him handsome, but it has little effect on him.

He looks more or less the same as always, he supposes- but… his eyes! They look __haunted__. Completely bloodshot, with dark circles under them, betraying his lack of sleep.

He curses. The last thing he needs is for Snape to think him weak. A moment later, he shrugs. It isn't like Snape even looks at him.

He's not used to feeling snubbed, to feeling like dirt under someone else's shoes, and he's not sure how Snape has managed to give off such an air of dominance as to cow him.

He's also not sure why Snape has gotten under his skin like this, why he hasn't been able to think of much else since he- since they- he's not sure __what__to call it.

It was sex, but it felt like both more and less than that. Tom has never felt so good in his life, yet he has never hated an experience more.

The worst part is not understanding. Tom needs to __know__, needs to have a clear definition of what this is, between them.

He curls his lip, disgusted with himself. He's turned into a weak fool, a __girl___,_ thinking of relationships and meanings.

Snape had made it abundantly clear that- __that__- had not been about Tom. He hadn't even let Tom __finish__.

Tom wishes at that moment, more than anything, he wishes to be Lord Voldemort once again. He wishes to end this torment- he hates living. He hates the feeling that he isn't in control of everything, that he doesn't know everything.

He hates not having power at his disposal, he hates that he can't even remember having once had that power, though he knows he must have done.

There's an odd sort of clenching in his stomach, or perhaps his chest, and Tom thinks he's feeling, for the first time, heartache.

Later  
>Tom's eating breakfast at the counter when Snape walks in, surly as always, making his way to the cabinets and pulling out bowls and mugs haphazardly.<p>

Tom's slightly surprised; Snape has been taking great pains to avoid him, and it seems a terrible waste of all that hard work to ruin it now.

Snape discards the pots he's laboring over and grabs a muffin from the counter, across from Tom, not acknowledging his presence.

He slumps off to the living room without a backwards glance; Tom hesitates a moment before abandoning his breakfast and joining him.

Snape is already sitting in an armchair when he walks into the room, shaking the paper open. Tom sits down on the couch nearby and waits.

He doesn't have to wait long. Snape reads for only a few minutes before he slams the paper down and glares at Tom. "What do you want?"

Tom shrugs. "What exactly am I supposed to do all day, stuck in this house?"

"Maybe you should write a book," suggests Snape sarcastically. Tom sends his best glare at him.

Snape sighs and stands. "You're right, I suppose. What do you want to do?"

Tom considers. "I'm guessing having my wand is out of the question?"

Snape merely raises an eyebrow and folds his arms, waiting for an answer.

"I'm going to go mad here," says Tom, groaning. "No magic, no freedom… did you forget that I'm Lord Voldemort?"

"Not right now, you're not," replies Snape, studying his fingers disinterestedly. "You're under my watch, keep in mind." A moment later he flushes a bright red.

Tom takes a moment before he, too, cringes in remembrance. "Yeah," he says hoarsely. "I mean, no, I- never mind."

A ghost of a smile crosses Snape's face. The two fall into an awkward silence for a few minutes, and Snape resumes reading his paper.

Tom studies his face as he does. "Did you snap my wand?" he asks, suddenly.

Snape looks at him over the paper, his face inscrutable. "Why?"

Tom shrugs. "Just want to know."

"No, it hasn't been snapped, but it's not here, and you can't have it."

Tom merely nods before standing and walking out of the room.

Snape follows behind after a momentary pause, folding his paper with a roll of his eyes. Tom turns as he hears his footsteps, but continues to make his way over to his room.

Snape closes the door behind him as he, too, enters Tom's room. He leans against the wall and folds his arms as he watches Tom throw himself on the bed.

"We need to talk."

Tom laughs darkly. "Ah, a classic phrase. Can't escape it, I guess, wherever I go. What do you want?"

"Put aside for a moment whatever has happened between us. What I have to say is far more important than that." Tom snorts.

"I- it doesn't- I can't help but notice that you've been having nightmares recently."

Tom's face darkens. He really doesn't wish to speak about this, much less to Snape.

"What of it?" he asks.

"As time progresses, I think you'll find that these become more frequent," begins Snape. "I can't say that I understand what you're going through, but-"

"But what?" sneers Tom. "This isn't something __normal__, that you can explain to me. I don't even __know__what's happening to me! And neither do you."

"Be that as it may," continues Snape, ignoring Tom. "The reason you've been reacting like this is because your soul is whole now. You will feel, and rightly so, the guilt that your actions deserve. There's nothing I can do to help ease this pain."

"I don't feel… __guilty__! I _can't_, it's not- I'm Lord Voldemort, mercy, pity, guilt- I don't feel any of those!"

Snape shakes his head in frustration. "Don't you understand? You're __not__the Dark Lord anymore! You're just Tom Riddle- a regular, normal human being-"

"I am not normal!" screams Tom, enraged, jumping to his feet. "Never say that again!" The lights in the room suddenly flare, their intensity shooting up.

"Control yourself," says Snape coolly. "You show an extremely high level of emotion for someone who refuses to acknowledge themselves as human."

"I am better than a mere human! I have evaded death more times than you can count," Tom boasts, his voice furious.

"But at what loss to your soul?"

"My soul is whole," Tom spits out. "Isn't that enough?"

Snape shakes his head. "Your soul may be whole, but it is far from pure, and this you know well. It's why you fear death- you fear the punishment that will be visited upon you for the sins you have committed."

"If death is the last great obstacle, evading it must be the greatest thing a man can do."

"No. The greatest thing a man can do is accept death."

"How?" Tom asks, his voice shaking. "How can I accept that I must go to a place where punishment will be visited upon me for eternity?"

"You can change, for starters," says Snape. "You can never erase your sins- but you can make up for them."

Tom looks away. "I don't want to talk about this anymore," he says through gritted teeth.

"Fair enough." Snape has never been one to push a sore subject.

"So you can get out of my room now."

Snape snickers.

"What?" Tom glares at him.

"You sound like a moody teenager."

"I __am__a teenager. I should be allowed to act like one once in a while."

Snape shakes his head in wonder. "You're a piece of work, you know?" he says, standing up and straightening his robes.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Snape shrugs, not looking behind him as he exits the room.

Tom rolls his eyes and concentrates on mentally slamming the door. He gives up after a few seconds though, and leans his head back against the pillows.

"Bloody wards," he mutters savagely. "Won't even let me do wandless."

Later  
>Tom's dreaming now, twitching slightly beneath his covers, letting loose a long moan. He's vaguely aware that he's dreaming; his mind is in some in-between state, and he isn't sure whether to feel grateful or alarmed that this dream is <em><em>very<em>_far from a nightmare.

_"Oh god, Severus, yes, just like that," he's saying, as he winds his fingers into Snape's hair. "Mm, fuck."_

_He's lying, completely naked, on his bed, as Snape straddles him, his shirt off to reveal surprisingly tanned skin. Snape is pressing kisses over Tom's face, on his eyelids, on his jaw, moving down to nibble his ears, moving further now to lick at Tom's neck._

_Tom arches his neck into the touch, wanting, needing to get more of this feeling. The room is dark around them, only enough to see flashes and blurred images of what they're doing._

_Tom's never felt hotter in his life, and he hooks a leg around Snape's, pushing their hips closer together. Snape hisses, and Tom rolls his head to the side, clenching his eyes shut._

_Fuck, but this feels so good. Snape presses a quick kiss to Tom's lip, taking a moment to nip at his lower, before whispering in Tom's ear, "Turn around."_

_Tom shivers and complies, giving a long, drawn-out moan a few seconds later, as Snape's hand comes to rest on the swell of Tom's arse._

_Snape kisses Tom's collarbone, and Tom has never felt a more intimate touch in all his life. Snape moves down Tom's body and brings his hand to touch the cleft where Tom's hole is._

_"Oh god," gasps Tom. "Please, please…" he's only partially aware that he's begging._

_"What?" asks Snape, leaning down and giving the skin there a quick, preparatory lick._

_"Sev- Severus, your mouth is- god, I love- I love this," Tom babbles incoherently. "Please, more."_

_A corner of Severus's mouth raises, and he spreads Tom's cheeks open with his hands and licks one single, hot stripe across Tom's opening before laving it with little licks and kisses._

_Tom's openly moaning into the pillow, fighting the urge to buck into the touch. Snape holds onto Tom's hips, steadying him, as Tom tries to rut into the bed, seeking more friction for his cock._

_Snape resumes his ministrations, fucking Tom with his tongue, while reaching one hand round to grasp Tom's balls._

_Tom lifts his hips, hoping for a better angle, and Snape uses the movement to turn Tom over. He raises his body over Tom's to capture his lips, snaking one hand down to grasp Tom's cock._

_He strokes Tom with increasing firmness, judging the speed of each stroke by the varying reactions he gets. Tom's hands fist in the sheets of the bed as his hips arch up into Snape's touch._

_"Please." He can barely summon the coherence to say choke out the word, as Snape's lips return to his neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there._

_The intensity of the movement alone is enough to drive him mad with want._

_Tom is all but shouting his release into Snape's hand when he finally comes, groans and swears escaping past his lips._

_Snape kisses the spot behind Tom's ear as he uses his other hand to coat his fingers in Tom's own come._

_Tom opens his eyes, finally, to reach a hand around Snape's neck, pulling him down to rest his forehead against his own._

_"Merlin," he murmurs, even as Snape is circling his hole with come-slicked fingers. "I love y-"_

Tom wakes with a start, shivering. He takes in several shuddery breaths, trying to get control over himself.

"Oh god," he murmurs, sickened. "What's wrong with me?"

Upstairs and down the hall, Severus Snape closes his eyes and ignores the hardness in his pants.


	5. Chapter 5

**Part Four**

Tom has a plan. He's been waiting for a chance, any __possible__opportunity he might have to escape.

He's still not sure about the reliability of this plan- there may be wards that he hasn't yet encountered. He wouldn't put anything past Dumbledore.

But it's worth a try. He __can't__stay here any longer- he's being driven slowly mad. The combination of the nightmares and Snape has him crippled by confusion.

He's not sure what he's planning to do when he escapes- probably get a wand and leave the country. Too many people here know who he is- he needs obscurity.

Possibly Albania- he would like to revisit, to reconnect with the place that he had once made a home.

Yet, he doubts that he will be able to resume his position as Lord Voldemort. This… life, this entire rebirth… it has left a mark on his soul. He can't close his eyes for picturing flashes of green light, hearing screams of pain and anger, feeling the raging confusion that won't die down.

He's never been cared about, nor has he ever cared for another. Now, though- Snape is hardly __worth__caring about, hardly shows any sign of caring for him, and yet… he feels some strange connection to the man, some strange unconditional- understanding.

Snape understands him as well, or at least, he seems to, if Tom reads deeply enough between the lines.

It's not like Tom to use a hazy, unfocused plan that hasn't been tried out and thought through. Still, he simply has no choice anymore.

He has to leave- Tom deliberately pushes the word 'flee' from his mind- before something bad happens- something like… not __love__, it's not remotely close to __love__, more- companionship.

__The Dark Lord never has had, nor has he ever wanted a companion, __Tom recalls. And yet… lately, he is starting to want something more than the insurmountable loneliness of captivity.

The high cruel voice is all but gone from his mind, no longer whispering to him in his waking hours, no longer urging him to insanity, and Tom feels the worst fear he has ever felt in all his life as he stares at the door to his bedroom.

It's fear of the unknown, of what lies ahead, and Tom can acknowledge this as a very real, very present danger. His guide to the path he was once sworn to has left him, discarded him, perhaps thinking him weak.

But Tom knows the boundaries he has pushed, he knows the strength of both his mind and his will. He may not be Lord Voldemort any longer- but he sure as hell isn't weak.

And so, he makes his decision. He has assessed the situation, and decides to flee during the day- his bedroom door is heavily warded at night. Snape is just another obstacle he will have to face during the day.

He approaches his bedroom door and makes to walk out of the room just as Snape is entering the room. Tom groans in frustration, rolling his eyes.

Snape seems fidgety, nervous. "May I sit?" he asks, indicating the chair.

Tom heaves a long-suffering sigh and merely nods his head.

"Now," says Snape. "I've been thinking and, well, I wanted to say I'm… I'm sorry."

Tom locks eyes with him. "What? Whatever for?" he asks.

Snape looks abashed. "You know," he mutters, not meeting Tom's eyes.

Tom smirks to himself. Might as well have a bit of fun before he goes, rile old Snape up a bit. "You mean, that other day, when you rather rudely barged into my personal space in __quite__a non-mentoring kind of way?"

Snape glares up at him. "Trust you to make this difficult," he snaps. "Yes, that, I'm sorry, okay?"

Tom tilts his head to the side, mock thoughtfully. "Oh, well, I guess you're forgiven, then."

"Just like that?" Snape's voice is disbelieving.

"You seem surprised."

"The Tom Riddle I know would not accept that as adequate apology, that's all."

Tom takes a step towards Snape, closing the gap between them. "Make it up to me," he whispers, seeing Snape swallow heavily.

"Tom," he says, and his voice is husky. "This- this isn't right. I can't- not again, I-"

"Shut up." Tom moves closer to Snape, a swagger in his step. "Just, forget about Lily for a minute, okay? I know, I don't look like her, but I want this, and I want you, and-"

"It wasn't about Lily," Snape interrupts, making eye contact with Tom. "It wouldn't- I would never have done that if it was just about __her__."

"What was it about then?" Tom asks, but he doesn't let Snape answer as he bends and catches his mouth in a searing kiss.

When he pulls away several moments later, Snape's eyes match the lust that Tom can feel in his own. "This," Snape gasps hungrily. "It was about this."

Tom closes his eyes and breathes for a minute, trying to contain his arousal. "Think we can do it properly this time?" he says. "On the bed."

"I give the orders around here," says Snape, even as he moves towards the bed, unbuttoning the cuffs of his white collared shirt.

"Yeah, whatever you say," replies Tom, amused, only to bite back a sharp gasp as Snape pulls him forward by the wrist to sprawl, rather undignified, on the bed.

"It was your first time, wasn't it?" asks Snape, even as Tom is pressing open-mouthed kisses along any part of him he can reach.

"Yeah," answers Tom.

"God, I'm sorry," Snape closes his eyes as Tom nips at the skin on his inner thigh and shudders.

"Bygones," says Tom dismissively. "Besides, I stopped complaining eventually."

Snape smirks a little, and then throws his head back as Tom laps experimentally at the head of his cock.

"Oh, God, Tom, keep going. But… I didn't even let you come last time."

Tom swallows down as much of Snape's length as he can handle in one quick, sudden movement, and Snape groans loudly.

"Merlin, boy, don't stop doing that. Now suck me, yes, just like that."

Tom bobs his head obediently, swirling the first few drops of precum with his tongue. It's a weird feeling this, yet he wouldn't stop for anything now.

He lets go of Snape, making a small popping noise, and looks at him, where Snape's hair is splayed across Tom's pillow.

"Don't stop." Snape doesn't even open his eyes.

Tom bends back down

"Fuck, Severus, fuck me."

Snape shakes his head. "Ride me," he says instead, bringing his hands up to rest on Tom's shoulders.

Later  
>Tom chances a glance at the still sleeping Snape on the bed. He is getting ready to make his escape now.<p>

He considers leaving a note- or a token, of sorts- some sort of message for Snape, explaining. But he's Tom Riddle- he doesn't __need __to explain himself, to anyone.

He looks back down at Snape. Somehow, he doesn't want to leave like this, without a goodbye. He curses his own foolishness and exits the room, walking towards the front door.

If he knows anything at all about Dumbledore, he knows that the protective barrier radiates at least half a kilometer around the house. Escaping the house itself is the easy part- Apparating away once the alarms (that were surely there) were set off- that was the harder part.

He stands before the front door and __feels__. He should have done this weeks ago, really. Any magic, no matter how strong, can be reversed, and he should have remembered that.

Never mind that now, though. He closes his eyes and moves his hand around the door, testing the nature of its barriers.

The simple way to do anything- he tries to touch the doorknob- it won't let him. He can't touch the hinges, nor, indeed, any part of the outer wall.

Annoying, but ultimately, not foolproof. The lack of a wand is an irritating hindrance, but he will be able to manage without.

The barriers about the door are strongest, so he moves to the nearby window. Here, too, the barriers are strong, but Tom concentrates hard on the gap between the two layers of glass.

He pictures it shattering before his eyes, pictures the barriers disintegrating with his touch, pictures the glass simply vanishing, and when he opens his eyes after nearly five minutes, he finds the window open.

He smirks to himself and scrambles out the window. The moment his feet touch the ground, an alarm sounds out, as he had expected. Dumbledore and his gang will be alerted before long.

He runs- he's not sure what direction, nor is he sure where he is, but he knows he has limited time before Dumbledore and his cronies station themselves around the border.

Snape will be awake by now and after him- Tom pushes the thought away. It doesn't matter if Snape hates him.

He manages a wandless Disillusionment Charm, but it won't protect him against the likes of Dumbledore- he needs a wand.

He concentrates for now on pacing his breaths, determined to make it past the boundaries without tiring too much.

As he runs, he feels a wild exhilaration rise up in him, threatening to overpower him. He laughs, wildly, maniacally, as he runs, ignoring looks from nearby pedestrians.

He is free at last.

Later  
>The euphoric feeling of escape is quick to wear off, especially when Tom realizes that he is essentially homeless, with neither money nor a wand.<p>

It's been a week since he escaped, and he has been hiding, on the run, making his way towards London.

It isn't until eight days' time, when he's curled up in a ball, covered by newspapers, on a park slide, that a flash of brilliance comes to him.

The Knight Bus. How could he have not realized? In all fairness, Tom muses, it wasn't as though the Knight Bus had been around when he was in school.

Not wanting to waste any further time, he makes his way to the street and sticks his right arm out. He can find a way to deal with the money issue later.

"I'm Stan Shunpike, and welcome to the Knight Bus. For an overnight bed to sleep in, you pay-"

"Yes, yes," Tom cuts in. "Just get me to the Leaky Cauldron, and fast."

Stan Shunpike grumbles a bit about rude, impatient customers who can't wait for him to finish a sentence, but makes room for Tom to shove past him and sit down.

"That'll be twelve Galleons, then," says Stan, pausing to poke Ernie in the shoulder. "Take it away, Ern."

After that, it's child's play to dash out of the Bus as soon as it stops near the Leaky Cauldron, ignoring the indignant yells and curses of both Stan and Ern.

Stan gives chase, but quickly tires after a few minutes and returns to the Bus. Tom looks around him quickly, making sure he has not been recognized, before entering the pub and making his way for the back, the entrance to Diagon Alley.

He filches a hair off the back of some warty, seedy looking wizard and heads for the apothecary.

The Polyjuice Potion is in the very back, unguarded. Tom uses a handy spot of wandless magic to unseal it, take a quick swig, adding the hair, and reseal the bottle, placing it back on the shelf.

He exits, smiling genially at the owner as he does.

Later, Ollivander doesn't notice anything amiss when Tom spills a tragic tale of how his pesky children got into his things and managed to snap his wand.

When Tom has tried pile after pile of wands, however, to no avail, Ollivander peers closely at him.

"Sometimes a wand will not align himself with a wizard," he murmurs, too close to Tom's face for his liking, "if the wizard will not reveal himself to the wand."

Tom's dislike must show on his face, for Ollivander backs away quickly and heads for yet another shelf.

"Who is he, I wonder," Tom hears him say. Tom remains silent.

It seems that Ollivander may know more than he's letting on (and how Tom knows this, he cannot say), for when he returns, his eyes are bright with anticipation as he hands yet another wand to him.

"Try this."

Tom takes the wand and immediately feels a connection with it. It's not as good as his old wand, but it will do. The medium matters less to him than the power that lies behind it, and this is as good a wand as any.

Ollivander merely nods to himself. Tom eyes him calculatingly for a moment.

"All right, old man, you've had your fun. What is the significance of this wand?" he demands finally, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Ollivander merely places the wand into a carrying case for Tom and hands him a receipt. "You will send me the money by post, Mr. Riddle, if you please."

Tom gasps. "How do you know who I am?"

Ollivander smiles at him, a true smile. "My dear boy, fourteen years ago, I placed this wand aside for Mr. Harry Potter. I believe the two of you are acquainted?"

Tom opens and closes his mouth, not finding anything meaningful to say.

"Potter? Why would it- what, I don't quite understand what you're saying."

"You'll find, in due time, Mr. Riddle, that you and Mr. Potter are far more alike than you give either him or yourself credit for."

Ending on that cryptic note, Ollivander turns on his heel and disappears behind the shelves and mountains of wands and cases.

Later  
>Tom feels a bit like an eleven year old once more, holding a new wand for the first time. He wants to do everything all at once, can't quite make up his mind which spell to perform first.<p>

Still, he should be careful. For all intents and purposes, he's sixteen, and using magic without discretion can still get him into trouble with the Ministry unless he is near another witch or wizard at the time.

He's standing outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Shop when he hears a familiar voice- a voice that plagues his nightmares.

"Mrs. Weasley, do you mind if Ron, Hermione, and I go for an ice cream?"

Tom freezes and turns slowly. Harry Potter is heading towards him, flanked on either side. They haven't noticed him yet, and Tom is keen to ensure that it stays that way.

He manages a nonverbal Disillusionment Charm just in time, as Potter turns his head to face the direction in which Tom is standing.

He goes to stand behind them as they place their orders and sit down at a table. Potter is speaking in a low voice to his friends.

"Dumbledore says there's still no sign of him anywhere. He's afraid he might try to come after me again. There's no telling."

Tom snorts. They're talking about him- and Potter's ego doesn't seem to have deflated at all. Tom has minimal interest in Harry Potter nowadays.

The ginger one snorts. "I told you it was dodgy to let Snape hold him. Probably helped him escape or something."

The Mudblood gives him a reproving glare. "Ron! You know Professor Snape has been beside himself that he let Riddle escape- you heard him at the Order meeting last week. He's clearly beating himself up with guilt."

__Really__now, and wasn't that interesting. Tom most certainly does not feel guilty himself. He doesn't feel things like that.

"Either way, it's my responsibility to find Riddle," says Harry. Tom rolls his eyes. It most certainly is __not__.

"We can't trust him- there's no telling what he'll do if he decides to return to power. He'll be even worse now that he's had some experience. I say, try this, it's excellent."

Tom shakes his head mockingly and turns from them. If only they knew, the sad little children- he can't go back to being Lord Voldemort now, not with this stupid soul festering inside him.

Well, they told him some interesting bits of information, at least. So, Dumbledore still fears that he will revert to his old ways. And apparently- Tom tries not to feel anything by this- apparently, Snape is feeling quite guilty over his escape.

Well, it wasn't _e___ntirely__Snape's fault. Perhaps Tom should have thought about the consequences of his leaving- and how it would reflect on Snape.

Later  
>"I don't know why I'm here."<p>

Snape looks up from where he is sitting, holding a mug, and his expression transforms into one of utter disbelief.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Tom steps into the room. "I- I suppose I wanted to see that you were okay."

Snape stands and folds his arms. "I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?" he asks.

"I've heard that the Order is upset with you for not being able to control me."

A tired smile crosses Snape's face. "Oh, Tom," he sighs. "Who would be able to control you?"

Tom scowls. "Don't patronize me. The point is, they don't think you helped me, did they?"

Snape shrugs noncommittally. "They don't really know what to think. Dumbledore set those wards up himself, you know. You shouldn't have been able to breach them, especially wandless. It's worrying Dumbledore quite a bit, actually- he's not sure of the depth of your powers anymore."

Tom smiles. He likes the sound of that. "I always said I was more powerful than that old coot."

"Yes, well, it looks like you may be right," Snape says seriously.

A few moments pass in which neither of them says anything. "Why did you come back?" Snape asks.

Tom doesn't answer immediately. He crosses to the window and draws a line with his finger in the dust on the sill.

Looking at his now dusty finger, he slowly states, "I'm not sure, really. I sort of just felt… purposeless, you know? Like I didn't have anything to do, anywhere to be, just… empty."

He turns to find Snape watching him closely and shrugs, an easy smile gracing his face. "Saw Potter in the streets of Diagon Alley, reminded me of you, thought I'd come by and say hello."

Snape is trying to read the expression on his face, but Tom keeps his countenance light, and Snape looks away after a moment in frustration.

"Well," he says at last, "what do you want?"

"I can't really say," says Tom. "It's a bit annoying, really, going from a plan of immortality and invincibility to not having so much as an idea for the future. But I suppose I've got to deal with what I've got."

"I meant from me."

"Oh." Tom is brought up short. What does he want from Snape? He can't answer that question- at least, the answer that comes to mind first isn't one he wants to admit.

He doesn't answer, so Snape continues.

"I'm surprised to hear you say that, as a matter of fact. You really aren't the Dark Lord anymore, are you?"

"I thought we ascertained that long ago. I'm just… a shell of what I used to be."

"What are you talking about?" exclaims Snape. "You're ten times the man you were!"

"I don't even know what my aim in life is anymore!" insists Tom. "How can I even compare to what I was?"

Snape shakes his head. "I thought you would have figured that out by now." His tone is sorrowful, regretful.

Tom steps towards him. "Then maybe you can teach me?" he asks, keeping his tone casual. "Let me stay here, with you. You know all about beginning life anew."

Snape looks away. "I don't think that's a good idea," he says, almost gently.

"Why not?" Tom's jaw is set stubbornly. "Dumbledore would be happy. I wouldn't be in this… this rut. And you- you wouldn't be lonely."

Snape glances at him sharply. "I am not lonely," he snaps icily.

"Yeah, right. But it's a good idea!"

"Tom," Snape murmurs, his voice barely audible. "We shouldn't."

"Why?" Tom doesn't care that he's close to begging now. "Why is it so wrong?" He's aware now that the topic has shifted to something else that has gone unspoken for too long.

"You're sixteen, for Merlin's sake, and-"

"But it doesn't matter!" cries Tom, frustrated. "You and I both know that I'm no teenager, at least, not in mind."

"Be that as it may," says Snape, frowning. "I'm not sure you should waste-"

"If you're going to say 'waste your time'," says Tom through gritted teeth, cutting Snape off once more. "I will murder you, on the spot."

Snape looks as though he doesn't know whether to be annoyed or amused. "It's true, though," he insists.

"Look," says Tom. "It's not like I'm asking you to marry me, or even to be romantically involved with me. __Hell__if I even know what romance is! I just want, I dunno, a place to stay, and a person to stay with, that's not so hard, is it?"

Snape gives him yet another long, searching look. "There are so many loose ends we have yet to tie up, though," he says.

Tom recognizes a win when he sees one. "It doesn't matter," he says triumphantly. "We have time. All the time in the world. We're only just beginning life!"

Snape shakes his head. "__You__are just beginning life. There's a difference."

"I've already lived a previous life," Tom points out.

"But not well," Snape counters. "Life isn't worth living unless lived well."

"Well, don't expect me to become a white hat," Tom warns. "I'm the Dark Lord, remember. I have darkness in me, and you can't erase it from my soul."

"I wouldn't try to," says Snape. "The fact that you are willing to start again is enough for me."

Tom falls silent once more. "So where do we go from here?"

Snape shrugs. "The usual, I suppose. Stealing candy from babies. Scaring small children in the street. Attacking bunnies."

Tom looks sideways at him. "You Order people have a skewed idea of what it takes to be evil, you know that?" he remarks.

Snape smirks. "I'm not just any old 'Order people.' I have darkness in my soul, too."

"I know," says Tom regretfully. "It's probably why I like you so much."

Snape seems to choke on air, he splutters a bit, his face going red, before seeing Tom's grin.

"The look on your face!" Tom laughs, before sobering up. "Don't worry. I won't offend your delicate sensibilities by declaiming my everlasting lo-"

"Don't even say it," Snape cuts in with a shudder. "Just don't."

So Tom doesn't.


End file.
